


High on Love

by flowerflood



Series: Forevermore [5]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Love and that shit yk, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerflood/pseuds/flowerflood
Summary: Alexander does some things and loves some people.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington (mentioned), Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Forevermore [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665559
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	High on Love

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't updated this in a while so I thought hey, might as well use the start of my next school year to do it while I'm already motivated. It's actually whack how motivated I am, I'm even fucking studying, like, damn. 
> 
> Anyways, tomorrow is Mary Shelley's birthday, so I hope y'all are losing your virginity on your dead Mom's grave <3

He doesn't do this a lot, really. 

Actually, some people would argue with that, but as far as Alexander is concerned, he doesn't do this a lot. He's fine, he's not an addict, he's not like his father and brother, who both drank themselves to their fucking deaths.

But even though he doesn't do this a lot, Alexander now sits on his bed, in his college dorm, one weekend after visiting Ben at Yale, with a small mirror resting on his knee. There are still some traces of the lines he did on it, but, even though he isn't neat about a lot of things, he got rid of most of it as intended. 

"Getting rid of it" meaning sucking it up through his nose and keeping it in by keeping his head tilted back for a dreadful second of shut squeezed eyes and tension, before the wanted effect starts to snap in. 

George has told him enough times to stop doing thir for Alex to be able to imagine him seeing him now, doing his reading and whatever tasks he hadn't finished when he was actually supposed to, imagine him giving that deep sigh as he reaches up to massage his temples, only to stop after barely a second to just hold his forehead, because that's what George does when he's at the end of his wits. 

Alexander knows. He knows George's little quips and habits, the way his face goes motionless but still somehow looks angry when he listens intensely to something he's interested in. 

It's that look he got when he was on the phone with Jefferson that one time and Alex sat on the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal, completely bare, bare and shocked when he noticed George didn't intend on paying any attention to him during his business phone call.

So Alexander had put his bowl to the side, had laid down on his back, spread his legs and reached between them, pushing two fingers into his still slick hole as he quietly moaned, looking over at George, leaning against the other counter. He looked at him, sure, but he didn't pay attention as Alex put on a show. 

Alexander had left the kitchen with a huff. George had been confused about what Alex was upset about for the following days. 

He puts away the mirror to sit on the windowsill, snaps shut two of the books sitting next to him on the bed and gets up, cold feet hitting the cheap floor of the college dorm. Alexander liked it better this way than he would if he had taken up the offer George made about getting him a nice carpet and all sorts of other shit when he once visited. 

Alexander didn't need to be spoiled. Sometimes it scared him that he liked being spoiled a little by George, afraid he would forget about where he came from someday and lose himself.

He hears the taps of his feet on the floor, echoing through the quiet evening, mostly covered by the loud music and voices playing outside, in the hallways and in the other dorms. His roommate his out and doing only God knows what, but Alexander isn't sure he actually gives a shit, because he can't stand the guy anyways, so he might as well do whatever he wants.

John. He wants to see John. That's why he got up and that's why he's walking down the hallway in his pyjamas, barefoot, heading for a specific door he knows all too well. 

It's what usually happens when he gets high on coke; he wants to see John. They're not what they used to be, now close in a different way, because fuck, it's been years since they were in high school and one another's high school sweethearts (even though even them being that Alex had always denied to himself, afraid of the commitment it brought), and in the years that passed both of them changed in different ways.

Maybe they grew up and away from Alexander sneaking in, in to John's house through his bedroom window in hope his father wouldn't notice that way. 

Maybe they grew into Alexander knocking on the door of John's dorm and kissing him as soon as he opened, hands cupping his cheeks as they stumbled back. 

But Alexander doubts that they grew up or, for that matter, ever _will_ grow up. 

“I love you!” Alexander says, hastily between kisses, crowding John back against the edge of his bed, knocking him back so he has to sit down and Alexander can sit, straddling his hips. 

“Slow down, okay? Slow down, Alex.” John's voice is quiet and calm as he gently presses Alexander back enough to look into his eyes and it doesn't take long for a flash of recognition to flash across his face. 

He knows what those huge, wide blown pupils mean, but he doesn't seem mad. How is he always this God damn calm, Alexander can't imagine. 

“You love me?” John smiles. Alexander nods. “Well, I love you too. Do you want to go to sleep?” Alexander shakes his head.

And this is another thing people get wrong about him so... _so fucking often_ that it bothers the shit out of Alex; he loves them.

He loves so many people, loves them so much he would voluntarily get shot for them. He loves more than one person and while it isn't easy to handle or deal with, he loves them all, loves them differently, yet still loves them. 

Because people can't see the way he loves them, though, they just assume he loves noone, that it's all sex, no feelings. They assume Alexander Hamilton is nothing but a cold whore. 

He isn't. He doubts there is such a thing as a cold whore in the world, even. 

“Then we'll just stay like this, yeah? Just sit and talk.”

John smiles at him, stroking back his red hair, some strands of which have started falling into his face due to no product being in them. Alexander knows John likes his hair best when he doesn't style it, even more so when he doesn't style it and still looks like he's just woken up.

“Yeah, I can do talking, I think you know that. Would be kinda weird if we'd gotten this fucking far and you didn't know that? Hey, I just read this thing about anarchism for that shit lecture with the British prof and that whole system is such utter-”

John keeps stroking through Alexander's hair, smiling as he talks and talks, going on and on about the lecture, the theory of anarchism and things John honestly doesn't care about, at certain points slipping into tangents in French. 

John thinks it's cute. John thinks he's cute. 

John loves Alexander and the tender moments, such as this one, that the two share.


End file.
